The Age of the Immoral
by Mac-N-Z
Summary: WK/SM. The boys have become one of the other low class assassin teams and hope for their future is nonexistant. Can anyone help them?
1. Default Chapter

            The bells above the door of the Koneko no Sumi Ie twinkled merrily as a young, blonde, odango-haired customer entered the flower shop.  She made her way through the mass of squealing schoolgirls with many, "excuse me's" and subtle shoves.    Upon reaching her destination of the refrigerated rose section, she began to dig through the large assortment of the fragment blossoms. The girl was so absorbed in making her selection that she failed to hear the softly approaching footsteps behind her.

            "Can I help you with anything, Miss?" The flaxen haired girl whipped around at the sound of the young man's voice.  The boy swiftly took a step back at her sudden movement.

            "Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't even hear you coming.  Thank you, for your offer, but I'm just browsing.  If I need any help, though, I'll come and find you."  She gave him a smile that could warm even the coldest day in Siberia. The girl turned back around and resumed to her flower sniffing and the boy returned to his work.  The girl's smile was tucked away in the shadowed corner of the catacombs that created the troubled mind of the young man and was not unearthed until a time of great trouble arose and many of the wise and brave lay in an eternal sleep six feet under the ground of a world crying out for help from one long forgotten in the mind of man.

Well. It has no title yet.  It has no plot yet.  I have no ideas yet.  Great way to start, huh?  I know it's short and quite frankly, I don't care.  I was in a bad mood and decided to vent.  I might continue if I can come up with a plot.  Maybe Hica will help me.


	2. Bitter Exchange

Yohji lit up the cigarette held carelessly in his hand.  The casual lean of his body against the wall of the mission room made him look like a contented cat right before it goes to take a nap.  The other three in the room with him looked a lot less comfortable than their partner.  A young blonde was straddled on the armrest of a chair with his elbow propped on his knee and his chin resting in the palm of his hand, while a brown haired lad rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his arm as he rested against the front of the chair.  The last in the room, a striking red head, stood rigidly in the corner of the room, hiding his face in the shadows.  The chocolate haired boy paused his eye rubbing and looked up at Yohji.

            "Yohji, we are becoming like the rest of them out there.  Do you see it happening to us?  We said that we would never kill someone who didn't deserve to die.  That's all we do now.  It doesn't matter who they assign us, whether it be Mother Teresa or Charles Manson, we do it.  Have we really become that desperate?"  

            "We have to survive somehow, Ken," Yohji snapped back.  "This is what we know how to do.  It doesn't matter anymore who gives us the assignments or who we kill, as long as we get a paycheck!  Yes, we are like the rest of them, but it's eat or be eaten.  Kill or be killed.  I would have thought that you learned that from Kase, Ken!"

            "Leave him alone!" was Omi's enraged shout as he sprang from his perch on the armrest of the chair.  "At least he has kept some of his morals and didn't throw his life away because the death of some stupid chick who died years ago!"  The cigarette dropped from Yohji's hand and he took a lunge at the shorter blonde.

"Asuka wasn't a stupid chick, you… God damned Takatori!"   The last word was emphasized with a swing of Yohji's fist, directed toward Omi, which was intercepted by Ran.  Ran squeezed Yohji's fist and then let it go.  It swayed down to rest limping at the tall, blonde assassin's side.

            "Forget it, Yohji.  Go to bed.  We have another mission tomorrow."  The redhead left the room, signifying to the others to do the same.  As the undisputed leader, the followed and parted ways and each went to their own bedrooms.  Unbeknownst to them, a small video camera had caught the argument on tape and a petite blonde was watching it and jotting down notes on a small yellow slip of paper.  

            The blonde rose from her desk and turned off the connection.  She slipped quietly through the hallways of the dark apartment into a dimly lit room.  She crept over to the tiny wooden nightstand and opened a drawer.  Her petite fingers worked quickly as she pulled out an envelope, folded the yellow slip of paper, placed it in the envelope, and licked the envelope shut.  She moved quickly back down the hallways and approached the door.  She slipped on her shoes and coat, carefully placing the envelope into a small pocket inside the jacket, and ventured into the darkness outside.

Alright!  I might actually have developed a plot!  Go me!  I still really haven't decided the main Weiss guy and if you'd like to give your opinion, give it a shot.  I can't guarantee I'll go by the majority though.  This might all be a tad out of whack, mainly because I've never seen the show, but hey, if you don't like that, don't read it.  I won't be offended.  Happy fan fiction browsing!!  That really should be made into a holiday!  If you want to contact me, I can be reached at miaka_yuki21@hotmail.com


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